As a Minnesota resident, I’m keenly aware of life’s cyclical nature: Every three months the landscape changes from icy gray to spring’s baby green, to the fall’s rich red and gold.
I enjoy Minnesota’s dramatic seasons. But what I truly love is the smaller, subtler shifts that pass most people by.
During my walk around Como Lake this morning I noticed that the coots have arrived. The great blue heron has appeared among the reeds. And soon the bald eagle will perch along the shore, looking for easy prey. (If you have a Chihuahua, best keep it on a leash.)
Although Como Lake is far from wild, to me it’s a treasured connection to the natural world. In our age of concrete and silicone it’s easy to forget the simple pleasure of feeling sunshine on your skin. Walking two or three laps around Como Lake reminds me that I am still a part of nature; that I am still alive.
But by far the best reward this morning came as I rounded a sharp bend in the path. I noticed a beautiful pattern of ripples on the water, radiating outward in a semicircle. It reminded me of a zen garden. I wondered what might cause such small, uniform waves. Within a few strides the answer was revealed:
A duck butt, of course. What else?